


Morning After

by corcou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corcou/pseuds/corcou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historia and Ymir reunite, freed from their obligations at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by chapter 66.

"My foot was numb enough without you, from walking," Historia said. She prodded Ymir again. She was using more of her nails than necessary on a girl who had slept deeply for sixty years and thereafter learned to launch herself from standstill to clawed wonder in a blink's time, like the lapcats Historia had once despised, but she had dreamed of an end to sneaking away her nights in Sina, and her first morning waking next to Ymir was becoming her first afternoon. "And you promised you would cook."

Ymir's hand shot out, swiped Historia's half of the blanket, and tucked most of it under herself. The maneuver did not lift her leg off Historia's, nor did it look to bring them closer to lunch. "Yeah, you can bite me."

"If I had taken the serum, I would," Historia said, "but eating you like this isn't nutritious at all."

"It could be negative nutrition," Ymir suggested, and stretched out the parts of herself that had most contributed to the nutrition Historia lost the night before. 

The retaliatory pillow struck her in the neck. "King!" Ymir said. She dipped her chin, mocking deferentiality. _I shouldn't have pulled my punch_ , Historia thought, when Ymir had responded to her weeks-long quest—across lands she could have owned from a white tower instead of trekking across them, a fugitive and alone, with only the greening fissures the armored titan left in the ground to follow—with _Oh, there you are, big and tall left weeks ago_ ; but Ymir had been standing in the doorway with an arch to her brow like a bent blade. One hand expressively clutched her hip. Close enough to hit Ymir was close enough to feel the warmth of her exhaled breath. There was no audience to stop her from tucking Ymir's hair behind her ears and awkwardly jamming her lips against the revealed mouth, then, or to elicit the stiff conversational gambits she'd had hours huddled in trees to invent: how her memory of Ymir compelled her. How she came, how she left others to conquer the throne. How she rejected godhood for the pleasure of speaking to Ymir again without needing to proclaim her execution. How was she: at least Ymir had been willing to tell all after they'd tumbled over, and at one point under, the stolen bed. Historia had felt better about her choice by then, for two shifters would have scalded the mattress by combined heat. 

But Ymir's fingers were cool when Historia drew them across her palm, the window having been open all night. Few buildings remained standing in this ghost town, but the ones that did funneled cold wind into their cabin in a convenient V outside their cabin. 

"Get up, you great selfish beast," Historia said. 

She waited to see if Ymir would tense—if they were prepared, yet, to use the insults that had once boiled them free of their past lives with impunity. Ymir only snorted. "Your stomach rumbles more loudly than mine," she told Historia, and while Historia fumbled for a response to something so clearly false, she laced their fingers together, the better to roll Historia onto the floor with her.


End file.
